


A Shot of Courage

by guiltyhousewife



Category: Disney - All Media Types, Pocahontas (1995)
Genre: Drunk Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 02:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17889494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guiltyhousewife/pseuds/guiltyhousewife
Summary: A prompt on disneykinkmeme for "bad-sex"





	A Shot of Courage

(Note: I know "Indian" is so insanely incorrect and rude, but that's how John Smith/Thomas talked, so it would make sense for them to think that way.)

With a whispered good luck and a small, secretive smile, Pocahontas shoved Thomas into Kocoum's tent and left. 

Standing on the warm, earthen floor covered in furs of all thickness and color, Thomas couldn't help but wonder what in the world he got himself into. 

It all started when he opened his big mouth and shared his feelings with Pocahontas. As the wife of his best friend, the pair had grown close, close in a weird-sibling way, and she was privy to many secrets of his life, the one worth most mention his secret romance with Kocoum, pillar of male virility and virtue in the village. And he had confided in her his most recent problem with their romance, of course, only after days of wheedling by the Indian princess. 

"Well" he had relented with a blush, "It's just that, I can't help wondering when we'll actually do it, you know? I mean, we've fooled around a little, and it's great, but-"

"But you feel like the next step isn't being taken, the next step to solidifying your union." Pocahontas nodded, talking as casually and freely as if talking to a young, gay man about his lack of penetration was the most normal thing in the world. 

Pausing to process Pocahontas's words and push back his embarrassment, Thomas continued. It did feel good, really, to let all of this out instead of letting it gnaw away at him silently.

"I'm not in a rush, or anything, it's just that I can't help but wonder what's wrong. I mean, sometimes it seems like we might, and he backs off, or the mood dies, or something." He gestured uselessly with his hands, to convey his uncomfortable situation.

"And---?" Pocahontas prodded.

"And I can't hep feeling like it might be my fault."

"How so?" 

Thomas gestured at his entire self.

"Well, I mean, look at me."

It wasn't as much of a pitying statement as it seemed. Months of being stranded from the comforts of the British world had taken their toll on Thomas's clothes, and they hung in colorless-rags, though he tried his best to at least keep them clean. His hair, too, kept at his neck, was growing wild down to his shoulders.

"Hmm, well, I'm sure Kocoum is still attracted to you. It doesn't matter to him what you look like." But she could tell her words fell on unconvinced ears. "Alright, well then maybe a change of dress will improve your confidence, and that itself may help your situation."

A change of dress?

"....A makeover?"

Pocahontas laughed at the look on Thomas's face, and bounded up from where she sat cross-legged in the grass, and took him by the hand. "Come on, I'll get my sister to help. It will be fun, you'll see."

And Thomas didn't really have a chance to see the effects of what the girls had done, but he didn't really need to. He could feel them rubbing swift fingers covered in scented oil through his hair, braiding some bits while leaving the rest loose. They had taken his old clothes (he hoped to God they didn't throw them away) and replaced it with just a loose, short ropey-vest with beads, and a snug, animal-hide skirt, slung around his hips. His face itched where they had underlined his eyes with scarlet and ran a black line down his nose. 

He would either look amazing to his Indian lover, or ridiculous. It was just a matter of waiting. 

But fifteen minutes in, pacing the tent and readjusting his clothes, lighting, snuffing, and relighting candles, spreading the red flower blossoms, his nerves had taken over. How would he get Kocoum to fuck him if he was shaking and stuttering? 

Thomas's eyes found the older man's alcohol supply, in jugs in the corner, and they were fairly full (Kocoum rarely drank, except at special occasions like harvests and births). Thomas reasoned that a couple swigs or two would help calm him, make him more relaxed and appealing. Just like back home when he would brace himself with a quick slug of something strong tasting before a skirmish, so he would do so now. 

Thirty minutes in, he reasoned he might as well pour a cup. 

And hour of waiting for Kocoum, of wondering where the fuck was Kocoum, and Thomas decided he deserved to start on the next jug of alcohol. 

Two hours waiting and Thomas had started to forget what he had came for in the first place, but then realized he was lying spread and half naked on Kocoum's bed, and remembered. He lay back, further into the strong smelling, earthy furs, soft and coarse by turns, and set his drink down. 

Kocoum. 

This would work, it had to. He could see it now:

Kocoum would come into his tent after a long day hunting, and find Thomas there, pink cheeked and soft skinned and willing, dressed as seductively as he had ever seen him, surrounded by candles and flowers, and he would not say a word, but make his way straight to Thomas, pushing him back on the bed and using his hands to explore every cherished inch, whispering words of adoration, and then, when they had built each other up to a fine-frenzy, Thomas would open his legs and body to Kocoum, who would take him hard and passionately and-

Thomas groaned, as his own fantasy nauseated him.

Wait, not the fantasy, the alcohol swirling in his mostly empty belly nauseated him.

He rolled over, clutching his spinning head, when he heard the tent flaps part, and Kocoum's surprised "Thomas?"

Well, this disrupted his plans a little. He was supposed to be ready and posed when the Indian-man arrived, but he'd make the best of it. "Oh, hi, Kocoum. Um I didn't hear you come up..."

Kocoum stared at him uncomprehendingly. He was on grass....how loud was he supposed to be? His eyes shot to the askew jugs of his ceremonial alcohol, and his brow furrowed as he took in also Thomas's flushed face and loose expression.

"Are you alright?"

Thomas laughed at Kocoum's grave tone, though he didn't really understand what was funny about it..

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be? Come inside, it's cold out-"

"It's summer."

"It is, isn't it? Still, come inside. I missed you...." He went to stand, to perhaps trade in his shoddy verbal tools for more physical instruments of seduction, only to find his life flash before his eyes when the world swung up in one awful shift of perception. He caught himself, thankfully, and batted away Kocoum's helping hands, and pressed himself up against the older man. Physical contact was good, right? 

Kocoum was still frowning, but he held Thomas's damp face in his hands all the same.

"I missed you too."

God, the man was so sweet, and strong, and sexy, and he was going to experience it all, tonight. He knew Kocoum was looking at him, his outfit, his hair and paint. Now to just start the night off right. He bravely attempted to arch up on his toes to kiss Kocoum passionately on the mouth....

Only to let loose a particularly loud, particularly wet noise from the pit of his stomach right into Kocoum's face. 

Oh God, not the nausea.

Oh God, did he just burp? He could barely register the embarrassment before his stomach lurched up against his throat, and he felt his abdomen clench in warning. He skittered past Kocoum, stumbling into the night air. 

No no no no no no no...

He slipped on the night-damp grass, blindly searching for a haven to puke in when his vomit decided it couldn't wait and croaked up from his mouth, leading him to drop to his knees in defeat as his insides turned themselves inside out. 

Kocoum had been following behind at a respectful distance, but when the fit seemed on its tail end, and only moans fell from his lover's mouth, he approached, laying a hand on the boy's shaking shoulder. 

"Would you like some water?" He asked simply. 

Thomas turned to look up at him, the paint on his face smeared, his skirt streaked with grass stains, his hair in loose, sweaty plasters on his face. There were tears in his eyes.

"No, I would like to die." He said miserably. 

Kocoum surprised him by laughing, and dropped a kiss on his forehead, foul smell and all. 

"Not an option."


End file.
